


myosotis

by maraudersourwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Heartbreaking, Hurt No Comfort, Love Confession, M/M, Magic Memory Erasing, Memory Loss, Sad Ending, Tearjerker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 04:16:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15283428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersourwolf/pseuds/maraudersourwolf
Summary: It started small.Following the same pattern, with the seemingly same end.





	myosotis

**Author's Note:**

> Roughly inspired on s12 e11 of Supernatural.
> 
>  
> 
> Barely beta'd.  
> Kinda messy.  
> Please, grab a box of tissues.  
> Enjoy!

 

 

It started small.

Following the same pattern, with the seemingly same end.

The good guys winning and the bad guys losing after causing mayhem and pain and leaving a trail of distress, because that’s how stories goes and no one says what happens to the ones that sacrifice themselves for a greater good.

For a winning bet.

For a better chance.

For something.

For _someone_.

But there had been a misstep, Liam knows.

Someone had done the wrong thing, breathed the wrong air, stepped somewhere else instead of the invisible mark that each of them followed after a fight. Maybe half an inch closer or two meters further away. Maybe the timing wasn’t right, maybe he hit with the left hook instead of the right.

Maybe.

So many _maybe_ s, but nobody knowing.

Except him, who knows that there had been a mistake.

Because they were supposed to win.

“There’s no cure,” Deaton says, his stoic facade crumbling at the edges as the cheap mask it is and Liam has to ignore the invisible hand pressing over his windpipe, taking the air away. “Without the witch, we can’t read the grimoire and we can’t break the curse.”

And this didn’t feel like a win, at all.

Liam’s eyes are red, but the alpha glow that he doesn’t own yet has nothing to do with it. It’s the tears he has been suppressing since forty minutes ago, when he noticed that things weren’t quite right. With blood still clinging to his clothes and the fatigue uncommonly digging black holes under his eyes.

Under everyone’s eyes, except Theo.

Because that was a feature he owned way before the witch spell hit him. Way before he jumped in front of Liam, pushing the beta out of the way and receiving a blast in the middle of the chest made of purple and white and something that made Liam’s skin crawl. Way before he decided to be a martyr again, to save a boy he deemed worthy when instead saw himself disposable.

Because that was carved inside his mind with fire and the sharp tongues of everyone assuring that he wasn’t pack. And most likely would never be, not under Scott’s eyes. Not under Stiles’ watch. Not with everyone’s presence there, stopping him from being more than a call in times of need and a sour name at their lips to spit.

But he was something for Liam.

He _is_ something.

More than an ally, than a friend even. Than even an anchor. Enough to make the beta scream the chimera’s name and run back to him, have a fake sense of security that had the length of a breath. To make him now be at the verge of losing his own mind and not even being able to explain why.

But Liam had always been bad at lying.

Or maybe, this time, he isn’t even trying.

“I’m really sorry,” says Deaton and his gaze falls heavy over the beta. Liam doesn’t need any supernatural sense to know that the vet knows what’s happening inside his mind. He doesn’t need them either to know that even if Deaton hold no real appreciation towards the chimera, he does feel sorry.

Because this was supposed to be like any other time, but it’s not.

It’s not and Liam doesn’t want pity or understanding or even a fucking hand over his shoulder, a little pat of commiseration or the unwanted advice of what he should be doing. He knows what he should be doing, he knows what is waiting for him at the finish line. He knows and still he wants a solution that doesn’t exist to fall in front of him and solve this all.

It was supposed to be nothing.

Theo coughing, touching his chest with fleeting fingertips and letting a half assed chuckle of disbelief. And Liam doing the same, because that was their luck, right? Stupidly risking their ass to save one another, little and oblivious Liam this time, from a certain death.

But always getting out of it alive.

Always getting out of it safe.

Always.

Like the easy banter, the playful pushing, their clothes ragged and full of blood. The rough touches that felt too soft, the unspoken words, the blurted lies. The lingering looks of green eyes over his lips, the appreciative ones that he gave back. Being there, at his side.

Always.

Where was that now?

It disappeared with Theo forgetting where he left the truck and Liam laughing while guiding them both, because _look who’s now the damsel in distress_.

Theo forgetting in the next second which one was the key to open it. Then which one was the reverse. How did he use a manual gear. Until he forgot not only how to drive, but all together that he had a truck.

Where they were going or where did they come from, in every sense of the word.

Until Scott was a name from a song that he couldn’t remember the lyrics of and Stiles was nothing but a word in the wind, and who the hell is Malia? Lydia whom? What’s a puppy pack? Dread Doctors, like from the book? What is a chimera?

There was the vague memory of the Ghost Riders and Stiles telling them all how he tried for hours to make each member of the pack remember, with no success. Liam wonders if this is how it felt. People you knew like the back of your hand, ones you knew wouldn’t forget you easily, doing exactly just that. Your whole existence gone, with the snap of fingers. With a whip around your throat or a ghostly gunshot.

Or with the blast of a hex in the middle of the chest.

And Liam knew that Theo had things he wanted to forget. Things that gave him endless loops of nightmares at night and a crushing weight over his shoulders that he could never shake away. His own version of the tortured Atlas carrying the world, with fathom of screams and cries ringing on his ears and the unforgettable memory of sticky red over his hands.

Liam knew Theo wanted to forget, but not like this.

Never like this.

Not with desperation clinging to his eyes and the tremors of unsettlement in his hands because once again he was the victim of some sick game that was beyond his control. Because simple words slipped out of his mind and things that were just right in front of him were unrecognizable.

Because his own reflection was new every time Theo passed right in front of the mirror, even if he didn’t know why exactly was he doing it or why he was pacing around or why there was this hollow pain in the middle of his chest and an unbearable need to cry.

With Liam’s name like an endless prayer falling over and over from his lips with fear of letting it disappear into the darkness void that was now his mind that soon turned into a mindless action that had no explanation, like a catchy song that he couldn't get rid of.

He didn’t know.

But Liam did.

Each second was easier than the next and time wasn’t enough. It never was enough, not when you fight against life and death. But when you fight against time itself? The battle is lost before it even started.

Time was ticking faster than ever and Liam finds that maybe saving his friends and family’s lives going against the clock is a torture, but having to sort out your head and soul and emotions in a span of hours for both first and last time is a level of hell that he wished never had to experience and the ending--

The ending is big, for such a small beginning.

For someone forgetting where the truck was parked.

Or which key was the right.

Or to make the right move at the right time.

“I love you, okay?,” Liam’s voice wavers, painful and raw and real, same as this whole situation. Too much for him to handle, for him to understand. For him to accept. “I want you to remember that.”

And he isn’t dumb, like everyone tends to think, but he is a believer. Now, wishing against reality for some divine entity above them all, that never moved a finger to save any of them from harm's way, to see the worth and not the rotten blood on Theo’s hands and decide to perform a miracle.

And he isn’t dumb, but he wishes he could be.

They had killed the witch, for fuck’s sakes.

Theo blinks at him, his expression unreadable, and Liam knows what’s going to fall out of that lips of his right before he listen to it. Because the glint on those green eyes that he came to loathe and love all the same is going dim by each new thumping of the chimera’s heart.

There’s a small blue flower still clinging in between Theo’s hair, only survivor from a battle not only against the odds but also against calamity, that claims the attention of his baby blue eyes for the smidge of a second. It’s like a joke of bad taste thrown at his way, cracking him open.

And yet, he closes his eyes and prays for it to be a sign, for it to be the hope he so much needs right now. The odds smiling at them both, once again. The _always_ he was used to, the half inch or two being paid. The many _maybe_ s finding explanation.

He wishes for that single flower, stupid and fragile in the exact same ways he is now, to deliver everything he feels and cling not only in Theo’s hair, but also his heart and mind.

He wishes.

“Who are you?”

They had killed the witch.

But not the spell.

Theo's smile is tentative, his gaze doing a quick swipe of the room, filled with post-it notes naming each thing in the room except them both. Then down at their hands, where Liam keeps their fingers interlaced trying to keep this only thing from slipping in between them and failing because the chimera draws his hands away and Liam can’t hold the sob any longer.

“Why are you crying?”

And they had lost.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **myosotis;** forget-me-not.


End file.
